A Tree In a Former Life
by r4ven3
Summary: Around a year ago I wrote my first Spooks/Ruth Galloway (from the novels by Elly Griffiths) crossover fic called "Don't Druids Worship the Full Moon?" This fic, of 7 chapters, is a follow-up, and opens 18 months after that fic ended. To throw Harry and Ruth from Spooks together with Harry Nelson and Ruth Galloway from the Ruth Galloway novels is too tempting to not revisit.
1. Chapter 1

_**A/N:**_ _ **I acknowledge that the title of this fic was taken from Elly Griffiths' most recent Ruth Galloway novel, "The Dark Angel" - a moment when Nelson is musing about Cathbad. While a knowledge of my earlier Spooks/Ruth Galloway crossover fic, "Don't Druids Worship The Full Moon?" is not absolutely necessary, that fic is only 3 chapters, and reading it might help set the scene for this story, which is a follow-on fic, set 18 months later.**_

 _ **There are no spoilers for the last two books in the Ruth Galloways series of novels. This fic is set somewhere before "The Chalk Pit" (which is novel #9)**_

* * *

Norfolk - a Monday in mid April 2015:

Ruth Evershed sits in her car, staring through her windscreen at the facade of the house. She can't decide whether she'd describe it as staid and sensible Norfolk Georgian, or garish Gothic monstrosity; to her mind, it's a bit of both. She'd edged her car along the narrow lane through the trees, and suddenly, there it was, rising out of the landscape ... Pickersgill House, once the home of Arthur and Maisie Pickersgill, originally from Sheffield. Having made his fortune by refining the process of electroplating, Arthur Pickersgill had moved up in the world, buying and renovating this old Georgian home close to the sea, only a handful of miles from King's Lynn. He'd added the Gothic wing, along with the turret, just because he could. Both Arthur and Maisie have been dead now for over one hundred and thirty years, and their many descendants have either returned to Yorkshire, or moved closer to London.

Ruth grabs the lightest and smallest of her bags from the back seat, along with the keys she'd collected from the estate agent in King's Lynn. `This key will open the light grey door to your right,' Bronwyn, the estate agent had said. `The double doors at the front lead into the main house, which is being renovated. If you happen to go in there, our insurance policy can't cover you should something happen.'

Why Bronwyn had been concerned about Ruth being covered by their insurance, and what could possibly befall her in the main house, she doesn't know, and Bronwyn didn't clarify, but Ruth obediently heads to the smaller door at the right side of the house, and prepares to enter what is to be her home for the next month.

Ruth and Harry are taking a month away from work, or at least, Ruth is. Harry has promised to join her once he has ironed out a few creases in the current operation. Ruth believes he may never join her in Norfolk, but she's offering him a month alone with her, and she hopes he'll grasp the opportunity with both hands.

It is eighteen months since they had visited Norfolk, eighteen months since they'd met The Other Harry and Ruth - DCI Harry Nelson, of the Norfolk Constabulary, and his clever side-kick, archaeologist Dr Ruth Galloway. The archaeologist had at first appeared to be the policeman's go-to woman where buried bodies were concerned, but it had not taken Ruth long to surmise that Ruth Galloway and Harry Nelson (or Nelson, as he preferred to be called) were much more to one another than professional collaborators. Dr Galloway has a small daughter whose paternity had not been divulged by her mother, so naturally, Ruth had put two and two together, and come up with a child conceived in a wild night of extra-marital love ... or lust; she's not fussy about the core motivation.

For Ruth's Harry, the trip had been bittersweet, confirming the death of the young man he'd once believed to be his illegitimate son, and beginning his personal relationship with his senior intelligence analyst. Ruth has fond memories of their visit to King's Lynn eighteen months earlier, not the least of which is the night she and Harry had spent together in his hotel room. That had not been the first time they'd made love, but it had been the first time they'd made love while sober. Just three months after returning to London, she'd moved in with him, and they've been together ever since.

This month away is meant to be their chance to revisit the environment in which they'd been thrown together. As Ruth sees it, every day Harry spends in London when he could be with her is a day wasted. He appears to be umbilically attached to his office, and especially to the current operation, an operation which was meant to have been wrapped up a week ago.

"I'll join you on the weekend," he'd said hopefully, but Ruth hadn't believed him.

What is needed is another body ... a mystery which will draw him away from London, and to Norfolk, and ultimately back into her arms, and her bed. Ruth pushes open the front door - side door, actually - to Pickersgill House, and what greets her is like a page out of a story book. Her eyes are drawn upwards to the staircase, which winds its way up to two more storeys.

"Holy cow," she says aloud, and not bothering to close the door behind her, she hurries through the rooms on the ground floor, before taking the stairs to the next storey, and then a third floor, which is little more than a landing off which is a circular shaped room in the turret.

* * *

Ruth has to ring Harry. If he's in a meeting, or on the phone, she doesn't care. He is meant to be with her. He had planned to be with her.

"Ruth," he answers curtly, "is anything wrong?"

"Nothing is wrong. I just wanted to tell you about the house."

"This house in Norfolk," he says, matter-of-factly.

"Yes." Ruth hears his heavy sigh, but she is not deterred. She'll do anything short of selling her soul to get him here ... with her, and the sooner the better. "There's a turret room, and in this turret is a bedroom, with views to the sea. I've chosen that room for us. The bed is enormous, and it's soft .. and very comfy and -"

"Ruth -"

"The stairs curl upwards in a spiral. Harry .. it's beautiful. It's part Gothic Hideaway, part Downton Abbey ... minus the servants huddling downstairs, plotting to poison us, of course." Hearing his chuckle, she knows she is almost there. "And the kitchen is big ... and I mean big. We could hold a dinner party for twenty .. were we to know twenty people in Norfolk."

"We could invite the policeman and the archaeologist."

"That sounds like the title of a murder mystery - _The Policeman and the Archaeologist._ "

"Or a romance novel," Harry says lightly.

"I miss you," she says at last.

"I think I can make it before Saturday, Ruth. Maybe Thursday."

"What about tomorrow?"

"We'll see." Ruth hears a voice in the background, a voice which sounds a lot like Dimitri Levendis'. "Look .. I have to go," Harry says quickly. "If I get home in time I'll call you tonight."

And he hangs up before she is able to tell him she loves him. She sighs heavily, hoping her call to Harry has had the desired effect. Her phone suddenly rings, and she answers it, not bothering to check the caller ID. "Harry?" she says expectantly.

"Sorry, no. It's Bronwyn," says a young female voice, "Bronwyn Sweeney ... from the estate agent."

"Oh, sorry. Is anything wrong?"

"Not wrong exactly," Bronwyn says carefully, "but you might have noticed there are two other keys on the keyring I gave you."

"Right," Ruth says, removing the keyring from the pocket in her skirt, and examining the other keys - another old door key, and a smaller brass key for a modern lock. "The small one is for the lock on the bedroom door on the top storey, but unless you have kids, you might not need it ... you know, to keep them out of your bedroom in the mornings."

"We don't have children," Ruth says quickly.

"Oh, that's good," Bronwyn replies, and Ruth wonders what Bronwyn has against children. Maybe she has one or two of her own, although Bronwyn barely looks old enough to be driving, let alone giving birth. "The other old door key is to the lower cellar door."

"There's a cellar?"

"The cellar door is on the ground floor, beneath the stairs. That only has one of those bolt slide locks, but were you to go into the cellar, you'll see a door on the far side of the room ... to your right. That door leads to an underground tunnel, which runs between the house and the sea."

Ruth has heard of such tunnels, and it may have been The Other Ruth who had told her. "Smugglers?" she says, hoping Bronwyn will understand what she means.

"Not these days, but when there's a high tide, the water can flow up the tunnel to as far as the house, so you might like to .. you know ... not use that door."

"Right," Ruth says distractedly, wondering why Bronwyn had thought to call her about a cellar she hadn't known existed, in which there is a door to a tunnel, which she also had not known existed, and from which she is warning her to stay away. Now armed with that knowledge, Ruth may be compelled to investigate. "Thanks," she says, already looking forward to exploring the cellar and beyond.

But first Ruth needs to unpack the car.

* * *

It is over an hour later when Ruth ventures under the stairs, and opens the door to the cellar. The steps down to cellar level are steep, and the cellar itself smells of damp. The only evidence she can find of a light is one of those pull switches, which turns on a lonely bulb hanging from a wooden beam. It lights her way down the steps, but leaves the rest of the cellar in a dull half-light. She lifts her torch - one of those lantern torches which are meant to be able to float on a choppy ocean, but Ruth is certain would sink like a stone were it put to the test - and peers around the room. Across one wall are shelves, and a work bench. Ruth tries to imagine Harry down here, doing a bit of DIY, and she can't. Harry is a man of many talents, none of them related to home improvement.

Ahead of her, in the wall opposite, is a wooden door. `The door to the tunnel', she says aloud, although there's no-one there to hear her.

Ruth suddenly realises she is wearing a woollen skirt, and leather boots with a low heel. If, on the other side of the door, there is mud, then she stands to ruin a rather decent pair of boots. She experiences a brief moment of panic, wondering whether she should first put in a call to The University of North Norfolk, where Dr Ruth Galloway has her office. She decides against it. Were Dr Galloway to warn her to not venture through that door, Ruth would do it anyway.

She takes the house keys from her pocket, and places the less used door key into the lock, wriggling it around until it slides fully into the lock. Then she turns it, pulling the door open, before slipping the keys back in her skirt pocket. Her heart is thudding, something which always happens whenever she breaks the rules, but rarely stops her. She lifts her torch until it is level with her eyes.

The tunnel is dark as pitch, but the lantern torch has a fresh 6 volt battery, so its beam shines brightly against the dark earth walls. The floor of the tunnel, while clearly moist, is not muddy, so she cautiously takes the four steps which lead to the tunnel floor, leaving the door wide open, with only the slightest glimmer of light shining from the solitary bulb hanging beside the cellar stairs. Ruth hopes she's not about to slip and fall, hitting her head on something. No-one knows where she is, and were she to fall unconscious, she might never be found.

Now she is in the tunnel, Ruth is surprised that she is able to stand up without her head touching the ceiling, although a man of Harry's height will have to stoop a little, and DCI Nelson would have to bend over, no doubt complaining about it. Now she is here, she has no particular plan about what to do next. Although the idea appeals to her, she won't venture far along the tunnel. She has no idea when high tide is due, so she'll not risk getting caught in the tunnel by tidal water. She thinks she might wander along the tunnel for a little way, and then back to the steps.

Ruth has lowered the torch beam so that she can see the floor of the tunnel ahead of her, when the light beam catches something white. At first Ruth thinks it's a piece of fabric, like a shirt sleeve, or a pillow case. She ventures closer, keeping the torch trained on the white object. Even before a shape emerges, she knows what it is. What else could it be?

"Cripes," she says aloud, hurrying towards the white object. "Welcome to Norfolk," she adds, "home of tunnels, crypts, archaeologists, speeding policeman, and ..."

Now the white object is at her feet, she can clearly see that there are more white objects, lying just above the level of the tunnel floor, parallel, curved, white objects. Further along the tunnel floor are more white objects, large in size. To Ruth's practised eye, the larger white objects, partially covered by drying mud, resemble pelvic bones.

Ruth breathes deeply ... once, twice, three times she breathes, before taking her mobile phone from her other skirt pocket, and with one hand operating her phone, she takes several photographs of the scene. She pockets her phone, before kneeling down closer to the remains, in an attempt to determine its age. To her unpractised eye the skeleton is of an adult.

"Who are you?" she asks aloud. "Where did you come from? Are you a man or a woman? Modern or ancient?"

Ruth quickly turns, and hurries back to the four steps which will lead her back into the cellar. She leaves open that door, as well as the cellar door, and then heads straight to the kitchen to make herself a strong mug of coffee. Once she is sitting at the large pine table, and her heartbeat has steadied, she takes her phone from her pocket, and makes a call.


	2. Chapter 2

Ruth Galloway, Head of Forensic Archaeology, is already half way to the door of her office in the University of North Norfolk when her desk phone rings, a short, sharp, insistent ring. The archaeologist stops, and slowly turns, staring at the phone, hoping her will alone has the power to silence it.

When the phone rings for a second time, she sighs heavily, striding back to her desk, where she picks up the receiver. "Doctor Galloway's office," she answers wearily, hoping to invoke guilt in the caller.

She expects the caller to be Nelson, crying off his afternoon with Kate. He's meant to be collecting Kate from Sandra's, while she - Ruth - either works late, or spends a couple of quiet hours reacquainting herself with the state of being single and childless. The truth is that Ruth _is_ single, but she is not, and never will again be childless, and nor would she want to be. Kate is a joy and a challenge, and she can also be incredibly stubborn and single-minded, a characteristic she clearly inherits from her father.

Ruth waits for Nelson to offer his excuse - a difficult case, an interview with a suspect, a last minute urgent trip to the garden centre with Michelle, although there's no reason Kate couldn't accompany them to the garden centre. Nelson finds the garden centre boring, but he accompanies Michelle because it makes her happy. Ruth believes that Michelle insists Nelson accompany her to the garden centre to punish him for having had a child with another woman ... a woman who is neither slim, fit, nor beautiful, and whose hair is always a mess, chiefly because she often has to work outside in the elements. Michelle, on the other hand, is everything Ruth is not, including married to Nelson.

"Doctor Galloway?" a woman's voice is saying. "Is that Doctor Galloway?"

"Speaking," Ruth says quickly, trying to place the voice, and failing.

"I don't know if you'll remember me. My name is Ruth Evershed. Eighteen months ago, Harry Pearce and I -"

"St David's Church. The body of the Russian spy," Ruth says quickly, remembering the visit of the two Mi5 spies - the serious and quiet man, and the gentle and kind woman, and how, when she wasn't looking, he would watch the kind woman, his features softening the longer he looked at her. Ruth and Harry. Of course she remembers them. She wonders have they managed to find their way to one another, or are they like her and Nelson, forever on the cusp of _something_ , before sliding back into their familiar roles, the roles fate has carved out for them.

"I ... I don't know how to say this, but .." and Ruth Evershed rattles off an improbable tale of finding human remains in the tunnel just outside the walls of Pickersgill House. Pickersgill House is close to the coast, and barely a stone's throw from St David's Church, where the remains of the young Russian spy had been buried, only to be uncovered by a group of her archaeology students, less than two years after the young Russian's death.

"Have you moved anything?" asks Ruth Galloway.

"Of course not. I took photos with my phone's camera. If you like I can send them to you."

"Thank you. That would help." and she rattles off her mobile phone number to the other Ruth, the analyst from the Home Office.

It appears that she will be working late. Perhaps she should warn Nelson. Perhaps later. She'll wait to see what Ruth Evershed has found in the tunnel beside Pickersgill House.

* * *

Nelson has tried calling Michelle, but her phone is turned off. Either she is still at work, or at the gym. Michelle exercises enough for them both, so by his logic, he has no need to exercise, which is fine by him. He speeds through King's Lynn on his way to pick up Katie. While he's not running late, he likes driving fast. Speeding is one of life's simpler pleasures, and just because it's against the law, he's not about to give it up. He believes that being a policeman should have perks, and his chosen perk is to drive at whatever speed he wishes, regardless of the speed limit. While he's had some close shaves, he's never had a serious accident, and his speeding has never hurt anyone.

Sandra, Katie's babysitter - or should it be child minder? - usually hears Nelson's Mercedes take the corner at the end of the street, so by the time he rings the doorbell Katie is packed and ready.

"Hi, Dad," Katie says, offering Nelson direct eye contact. There is nothing shy or retiring about Katie, and Nelson likes that about her.

"Where would you like to go now?" he asks, once he's belted her into her car seat.

"I'd like a swing," she says loudly, "and ice cream." At the words, `ice cream', Katie raises her voice several decibels, but Nelson doesn't mind. Nelson adores his daughters, all three of them, and even at almost five years of age, Katie already has him wrapped around all ten of his fingers.

* * *

It is the end of a long and frustrating day, and Harry Pearce has taken an early minute, encouraged by Erin, his Section Chief, who had intimated that with Ruth already in Norfolk, he really should join her. Harry thinks his team members should keep any opinions about his private life to themselves, although he is prepared to admit that Erin is right. He misses Ruth at home, as well as the two or three times a week she visits Thames House, so even before he has finished eating the Indian takeaway he'd picked up on his way home from work, he has decided he needs to join Ruth in Norfolk. Were he to leave it for even another day, he will miss her, and Ruth is likely to be annoyed with him for putting work before her. Having made that same choice continually throughout his marriage to Jane, one would think he'd have learned his lesson.

So, deciding to surprise Ruth in the morning, he sends a quick message to Erin, and then turns off his phone. He doesn't wish to be speaking with anyone, even Ruth. He plans to leave London early the next morning, hopefully reaching Pickersgill House by breakfast. He'll surprise her, and with any luck, Ruth will be pleased to see him.

* * *

Norfolk - Tuesday morning, early:

Ruth Evershed is woken early by a sound from outside the house. She is sure she'd heard a vehicle. She'd spent a restless night in the turret room, a small woman alone in a very large bed. That would almost qualify as a title to a novel, or an episode of ` _Midsomer Murders_ ' - _A Small Woman Alone In A Very Large Bed._ She must remember to share that one with Harry ... if she's ever to see him again this side of Christmas.

When she hears footsteps on the stone pathway at the front of the house, she grabs her dressing gown, throwing it over her flannel pyjamas, before crossing the floor to the window which overlooks the front yard. There, standing alone, staring up at the house, is a man with long hair pulled back in a ponytail. He wears pale blue jeans with dark blue trainers, over which he wears a flowing purple cloak. Ruth rubs her palms over her eyes, and again looks down at the front yard. He is still there, and he has seen her. He smiles and waves, so Ruth steps away from the window. This is Norfolk, after all. In Norfolk there are tunnels and turret rooms, bones and burials, mists and marshes, abandoned air fields, and crypts in ancient churches. Why not a man in a purple cloak?

Ruth grabs her phone from beside the bed. It's only 7.15 am. What manner of person would be wandering country lanes, dressed in a purple cloak? Ruth knows only one local person well enough to call them at this hour about the apparition outside her window.

"Dr Galloway?"

"Ruth. Please call me Ruth."

"Ruth, I'm so sorry to call you at this hour .."

"I needed to get up for my daughter." She doesn't, but she quite likes this quiet and complex Mi5 analyst, who has been so spooked by finding skeletal bones in the tunnel beside Pickersgill House.

"I'm sorry if this sounds strange, but there's a man in my front yard. He has long, greying hair -"

"Is he wearing a purple cloak?"

"How did you know?"

* * *

"Are you Cathbad?" Ruth asks, having thrown on jeans and a t shirt and warm jumper, over which she wears a thick, knee-length, dark green anorak. While the house is warm, it's chilly outside, although the man in the purple cloak appears oblivious to the cold, or to the odd spectacle he makes.

Ruth Galloway had assured Ruth that Cathbad is a friend of hers, and is harmless. She'd promised to call him, asking him to be sensitive to the hour, and the fact that he has turned up at the rental home of a woman on her own.

"I'm sorry to have frightened you," he says warily, before taking a few steps towards her, his hand outstretched. He is relieved when Ruth shakes his hand, and smiles. It's a watery, forced smile, but a smile all the same. He drops her hand, watching her closely. "You're sad," he says gently, "and you're Venus-ruled. A Libran or a Taurus. I lean towards Taurus. Either that, or Venus was well aspected at the time of your birth." Seeing Ruth take a step back, he continues. "But your heart is heavy right now ... isn't it?"

"Dr Galloway tells me you're her friend. I'm Ruth Evershed."

Cathbad nods, saying, "I know." Her very best feature is her striking blue eyes, which sparkle when she smiles. "There are those who find my insights dangerous. My real name is Michael Malone, and I work in the Science Department at the University of North Norfolk. I'm due at work soon, so I thought I'd ... get a sense of the body."

Again Ruth smiles. The Other Ruth had forewarned her of Cathbad's unique ability to sense the unseen. "I take it you're not here to inspect the bones."

"No, but I'd quite like to take a wander along the side of the house. Down there," he says, pointing towards the southern side of the house, where the tunnel joins the cellar.

They stroll together across the grass, and as they draw close to the spot above where the tunnel ends, Cathbad hurries ahead of Ruth, his cloak swirling around his ankles. He stops in a spot which she suspects is directly above the remains, then closes his eyes, flattening his palms, facing them downwards.

"She's right here," he says, "isn't she?"

" _She_?"

Cathbad opens his eyes, and nods. "She."

"So you know who she is .. was?"

"I can feel her energy, but I don't know the name she used while in physical form. She's telling me she was a tree in a former life." Ruth is about to laugh, until she realises that this man is completely serious. "She's quite .. upset," he continues. "They cut off her head, and it is elsewhere. She can't rest until her head is found."

Ruth thinks he talks rubbish, but she is also intrigued by his theory about the head. There was no sign of a skull on the remains in the tunnel. For one mad moment, she considers the likelihood that Cathbad had killed this woman, but then discards that idea. The bones are not ancient, but nor are they recent. Ruth Galloway has suggested that the skeletal remains may be as old as sixty to one hundred years.

Suddenly, Cathbad begins walking back the way they'd come, so Ruth follows him to a battered car, which he'd parked a little way along the lane. "Thank you for allowing me to read the dead," he says formally. "Most people are closed ... here," he says, placing a hand over his heart, "but not you. You are open, but your heart is hurting right now," and he turns to get into the car, before driving away. Ruth lifts her hand in a half-hearted wave, noticing the flash of purple at the bottom of the driver's side door, where he'd caught his cloak in the car door.

* * *

DCI Harry Nelson, or Nelson, as he prefers to be called, really should be at the eight o'clock team meeting, but having received a quick phone call the evening before from Ruth Galloway, the mother of his four-year-old daughter, he'd rather take a drive to Pickersgill House, where he can inspect some old bones. Put bluntly, he'd rather spend a half hour or so with Ruth, than an hour with his team. He can see his team any time.

"Alright, Harry?" his wife, Michelle says, primped and pretty, and ready for her day at the hairdressing salon she manages.

"Champion," he says, smiling up at her. For him, breakfast is usually a quick cup of coffee, and a slice of toast. This morning, a coffee is all he has time for, especially if he's to catch Ruth at Pickersgill House.

* * *

Nelson drives at speed along the narrow lane. He's sure he can see Ruth's car just ahead of him, being driven sensibly, commensurate with her role as the mother of a young child ... _his_ young child. Just as he'd planned, he arrives at the house just as Ruth is climbing from her car. When she sees it is him, she nods, but doesn't smile.

"Alright?" he says, joining her as she examines the bizarre facade of Pickersgill House.

"Of course I am," she says, somewhat curtly.

"And Katie?"

"When I last saw Kate, around ..." and Ruth checks her watch, "eighteen minutes ago, she was very much the same as she was when you handed her back to me yesterday."

"Not too much sugar, then?" he asks hopefully. Since Katie had eaten all her ice cream, and quite a lot of his, he'd been worried she'd not sleep, due to sugar overload, and then Ruth would be annoyed with him. It appears she's annoyed with him anyway.

"She slept like the dead." Ruth looks away from him, and shakes her head. "Sorry, bad analogy."

They stroll together towards the door at the side, and nothing more is said. Ruth knows she shouldn't take out her irritation on Nelson, but sometimes the situation they share - where he is married to Michelle, while she has to bring up their daughter alone - overwhelms her with its inequity. There is no love of her life sharing her house and her bed. How can there be when he's married to someone else?

They have almost reached the door when she feels Nelson's fingers grab hers, squeezing them lightly. Needing his support at that moment, Ruth squeezes his fingers in return. She feels him pulling on her hand, turning her to face him. When she looks up into his dark eyes she sees a reflection of the distress she feels.

"I wish things were different, too," he says gently.

"But they're not," she replies, equally as gently. "They're the way they are."

Nelson is about to say more when the door opens, and Ruth Evershed stands there, dressed in jeans and a dark blue jumper. Nelson quickly drops Ruth's hand.

"Ruth ... Nelson," Ruth says, "come in. Our skeleton awaits."

* * *

Ruth Evershed holds the torch, while Nelson tries to not get in either woman's way; due to his height, he sits on one of the steps leading from the cellar to the tunnel. He's comfortable around his Ruth, as he likes to think of her, but a woman spook who could pass for a librarian ... you can't get much scarier than that.

"Harry not with you this time?" he asks, knowing his Ruth will be trying to work out the age and time and date to the nearest full moon of the bones half covered by the mud left behind by the tide.

"He's due later this week. He's been held up by work."

"I'm not surprised," Nelson adds, knowing that terrorism seems to have found a permanent place on the streets of London.

"I was right," Ruth Galloway says, standing upright, rubbing the end of her nose with the back of her gloved hand. She looks up at Nelson, and then to where Ruth has turned the torch beam downwards in an attempt to not blind anyone.

"What is it?" Nelson asks, very nearly calling her `love'.

"The skeleton is female, and there's a high probability she's given birth, but the remains will have to be removed and taken to the lab before I can say much more. I suspect that this was not her first burial place."

"Because she's lying straight?" Ruth Evershed suggests.

"And because her skull apears to be missing."

"Might they have lain her out like this, _before_ removing her head?" Ruth can barely believe she's having this conversation.

But before Ruth Galloway has a chance to reply, the three of them turn towards the door, having heard a voice calling. " _Ruth_? Where are you? You left the bloody front door open."

Harry? It's Harry. Ruth hands the torch to Nelson, brushing past him to greet the man who is shouting to her from the top of the cellar stairs.


	3. Chapter 3

In deference to Ruth's and Harry's need for privacy, Ruth and Nelson take their time returning to the ground floor. They needn't have bothered. Ruth's and Harry's reunion had taken barely more than ten seconds.

"You didn't let me know you were arriving," Ruth had stated crossly.

"I wanted to surprise you," Harry had replied, now equally as cross.

"I don't like surprises."

Harry's shoulders slump as she steps past him on her way to the kitchen. "I was hoping you might like this one," he calls after her.

When Harry hears more footsteps climbing the cellar stairs, he waits to greet Nelson and Ruth.

"I recognised your Mercedes," Harry says, shaking Nelson's hand. "Dr Galloway," he says to the archaeologist, before reaching to shake her hand.

"Ruth," she says. "Call me Ruth."

"Then call me Harry," and the Other Ruth nods.

"I'm making tea and coffee," Ruth Evershed calls from the kitchen. "Who's staying?"

"Thanks, but not me," Nelson says. "There's been a spate of expensive cars disappearing from the streets."

"In King's Lynn?" Ruth Galloway asks lightly, her eyes dancing in fun. Nelson nods. "It's probably sink holes," she adds. "They can be bad at this time of year."

"Very funny," Nelson says, nodding towards Harry, and then his own Ruth, before leaving by the front door, which still stands open.

"I can spare another half hour or so," Ruth Galloway says to Harry. "We have to figure out how and when to remove these bones."

* * *

"I wonder what constitutes a spate," Ruth Galloway muses, almost to herself, before sipping her coffee from a rather large mug, with the one word - **Mine** \- printed in bold black letters on the side. "I imagine it's no more than three or four," she adds. "After all, King's Lynn is hardly an enclave of iniquity."

"You mentioned the skeleton will need removing," Ruth begins, hoping to hurry along with the arrangements. She and Harry need to talk.

"What skeleton?" Harry asks, so the Other Ruth, sensing tension between the couple, quickly covers the discovery and the story of the skeletal remains to date.

"Cathbad declares she was a tree in a former life," Ruth says quietly, which brings a light giggle from the Other Ruth.

"That sounds like Cathbad," she replies.

"Wait .. wait," Harry interrupts. "Who is Cathbad?"

"Cathbad is a friend," The Other Ruth explains. "He's a laboratory assistant at the university, and in his spare time he's a Druid. He seems to have some kind of ... other wordly sense."

Harry can't believe what he's hearing. Has he just stepped through a tear in the fabric of space and time? "I'm completely lost," he says at last, glancing across the table at Ruth, hoping she still retains her sense of proportion, along with her sanity.

"I'll fill in the gaps for you later," Ruth says quietly. "For now, we have to work out when it suits all of us - Dr Galloway and her students, and us, of course - to access the tunnel."

They all wait while the Other Ruth considers the question. There are several groups of students available to excavate, all of them post graduate. The undergraduates are preparing for exams. "Depending on how much of it remains beneath the surface of the tunnel floor, I estimate two or three students can work for a half day once or twice a week. That means that you will only be disturbed for four or so hours, twice weekly."

Harry contemplates her proposition. "Why not have them work for six hours, twice weekly?" he suggests. "If it gets to be too much for Ruth and me, we have the option to go out for the day."

Ruth Galloway considers his offer, and then nods. "The reason I'm having to begin straight away is that in seven weeks, just prior to midnight on 29th May, there's to be a king tide ... an unusually high tide. We need to have the skeleton removed by then."

"And can you?" asks Ruth.

"We'll have to," The Other Ruth replies. "This tide has the potential to fill the whole tunnel to the steps to the cellar. In the meantime, I'll have a couple of my students conduct research on the possible identity of the Pickersgill Woman."

"Pickersgill Woman," muses Ruth Evershed. "I quite like that."

Harry is not so sure. He silently wonders what the woman whose remains are in the tunnel had done to warrant the removal of her head.

* * *

Once they have settled on arrangements for the dig, Ruth Galloway makes noises about having to leave. She is in no hurry, really. It's just that the atmosphere in the house is frosty, and she needs to leave Harry and Ruth to sort out their differences in private. She carefully drives along the lane in the direction of King's Lynn, contemplating a different future to the one she appears to have. Not that she's dissatisfied with her life, because she's not. She has a good job - stimulating and interesting, often challenging - a house by the saltmarsh, interesting friends - Shona and Phil, the latter of whom is less interesting than he is irritating and overly ambitious, but she still (sometimes, not often) considers him a friend, Cathbad and Judy - a precious daughter in Kate, a reliable and trustworthy neighbour in Bob, the indigenous Australian who occasionally watches Flint when she is away. What more could she want?

And then there's Nelson, and she only thinks of him when she wishes her life could be different. When she's feeling low or lonely, she'll imagine him turning up at her house late one night, begging her to take him in, because he has chosen her over Michelle. Of course, that won't happen. Nelson continues to choose Michelle. He is married to her, and has two grown daughters with her. Why would he choose an overweight archaeologist over the beautiful wife he has at home? Ruth knows Nelson believes he is in love with two women, but that's his problem, and not hers. Ruth's problem is that she is in love with a man she can never have.

* * *

"What do you think?" Harry asks, as he closes their front door, having seen off Ruth Galloway.

"I imagine these students stomping through the front hallway with mud on their boots."

"They'll be wearing protective clothing and footwear, Ruth, and they'll take it off before walking through here."

"If you say so," and she looks up into Harry's familiar warm, hazel eyes, and she can't help but smile. The man has an answer for everything. "Come here," she says, reaching out to him.

The kiss is restrained, but sweet, and even gentle. There is no passion or loss of control. They will not be taking this to the bedroom. When the kiss ends, Ruth leans against him, sighing heavily. "I'm sorry I was mad at you," she says, her nose pressed against Harry's neck. "I just -"

"I know," he murmurs. "When I'm working I don't know when to stop."

"You can say that again."

Very slowly, Harry pulls out of their embrace. "Before I do anything else, I need breakfast."

"Once you've eaten, I'll show you the bones," Ruth says, walking ahead of him to the kitchen.

"I can't wait," he replies, and Ruth is sure she detects sarcasm.

* * *

"So you say the skeleton has no skull," Harry says, his eyes taking in all the visible bones, while Ruth stands at the head of the skeleton, training the torch on what she hopes is the right place.

"It appears that way," she says, "and Cathbad agrees, although he was the first one to mention it, and he hadn't even seen the remains."

Harry lifts his eyes to hers, and she can see that he is rather suspicious of Cathbad. Over breakfast, Ruth had given him a quick summary of last evening, and then her early morning encounter with Cathbad. She suspects Harry thinks the man is an undercover agent from either Russia or China, or worse, Iran.

"So, Ruth, what you're telling me is that this ... _Cathbad_... has information he has gained .. somehow .. by telepathy, or communication with the spirits, or the trees, or the fairies, or _whatever_ ... information which can only be qualified by observing the remains."

Here we go, thinks Ruth. Whenever Harry feels irritated, or suspicious, or tired, or bored, he becomes pedantic, lacing his every syllable with sarcasm. "Like you don't ever have hunches," she says.

"Hunches is one thing. Communicating with a person long gone is a whole other level of chicanery." Harry offers her one of his long stares. "What if he's Russian, or -"

"Cathbad was born in Ireland, Harry."

" _Northern_ Ireland?"

" _No_! The Republic of Ireland, and I can guarantee he's not Russian." Ruth sighs. "Can we drop this, and concentrate on the bones?"

"I have a theory," Harry says, clearly happy to let Cathbad be Cathbad. "This tunnel would have been here during the second world war."

Ruth nods. "I suspect that the original tunnel was dug by smugglers, maybe as early as the 1840s."

"Perhaps much earlier." Ruth nods, and so Harry continues, his eyes on the stark whiteness of the visible bones. "To be in this condition, this tunnel would have to have been rebuilt, perhaps the ceiling reinforced during World War II. It would have had many uses. My suggestion is that we try to find out who owned this house, and/or who lived here during the late 1930s, and into the 1940s. Then we need to research how it was used during that time."

"By `we', you mean me."

"We can do this together, Ruth. Let's go back to the kitchen. This place is a bit ..."

"Spooky?"

"I was thinking more of cold," Harry replies, holding out his hand to help Ruth up the steps.

* * *

By the end of her working day, Ruth Galloway has already organised a roster of post graduate students in forensic archaeology to work at the site beneath Pickersgill House. She has chosen Felix Curtis to act as supervisor and spokesperson for the group, hoping they can begin as early as Thursday. She will have to inform Ruth and Harry, but first she has to pick up Kate from Sandra's, and get the child home for tea, bath and then bed.

Ruth is surprised when she reaches the staff car park to find Nelson leaning against the bonnet of her car.

"Is this a social call?" she asks, suspicious about seeing him twice in one day.

"Half and half," he says, stepping away from her car.

"Meaning?" As pleased as she is to see him, she is also annoyed with him. It's likely that what he has to tell her could easily have been conveyed by phone.

"How did the Other Harry and Ruth feel about having students in their house? Are they cooperating?"

Ruth smiles a rather weak smile. Nelson is quite transparent, or he is to her. She imagines that were the couple from London to object to having their rental house invaded by archaeology students, he'll offer to persuade them otherwise. Dear Nelson. He is protecting her, and protecting her project, offering her assitance. "They were fine about it," she says, moving to unlock the drivers' side door of her car, while this time Nelson leans against the side of the car, his arms folded across his chest. "I can't say for sure, but I suspect they're just a little excited about it. Ruth is an intelligence analyst. She won't be able to resist researching the house and the tunnel."

"So she'll do your job for you."

Ruth nods, smiling, before leaning over to place her brief case on the passenger seat. She stands within the open door, one hand on the door frame. "Did you mention to Kate that she's soon to start school?"

"I might have, although we spent most of our time together discussing the probable function of unicorns."

Ruth rolls her eyes. "Unicorns are her current temporary obsession."

"Why do you ask?"

"She seems to think that just because she's ready for school, she can start whenever she wants. I had to explain to her that she can't begin until she turns five. My explanation involved a brief discourse on the history of compulsory education in the UK."

Nelson grins. Of course it did. "And did Katie understand?"

"Far more than expected. She suggested we move her birthday forward to this weekend, so that she can begin school on Monday."

Nelson's smile is wide. "She's a clever little girl, our daughter."

Ruth is temporarily taken aback. Nelson has never before used the term `our daughter' in her presence, and she wishes he hadn't. It gives the wrong message entirely. Yes, Kate _is_ `our daughter', but those two words spoken together imply togetherness, coupledom, a commitment, and everything else they don't have together.

"Is that all?" she asks, putting one foot inside her car, hoping Nelson can take the hint.

He nods. "I just thought I'd tell you that I might check on Spies R Us towards the end of the week, just in case you're too busy to do so."

"Thank you, Nelson. I'd appreciate that. I have to pick up Kate now," and she eases herself into the car, hoping her slithering into her car appears more graceful than it feels.

Nelson steps away from the car, offering her a wave as she drives off. As she is about to leave the staff car park, she glances in the rear view mirror to see him standing in the same spot, watching her.


	4. Chapter 4

Norfolk - Monday - 5.12 pm:

"I hope we didn't make too much noise," the tall man called Felix says apologetically, as he passes Ruth in the front hallway.

Ruth and Harry have an unspoken agreement that she is best suited to interacting with the archaeology team, while he stays well away.

"We barely knew you were here, Felix," Ruth assures him, conscious of Harry hovering in the kitchen doorway, watching while the four members of the Little Diggers, as he calls them, file through the doorway and to the yellow van driven by Felix.

Ruth closes the door behind them, and turns towards Harry. "Two days down, many more to go," she says, slowly covering the distance between them.

"I'm missing the daytime sex," Harry says, chiefly to shock her, Ruth is sure. He reaches out to grasp her upper arms before planting a kiss on her lips.

"Since we've only managed to do that once, I don't see how you can miss it."

"I thought I'd head back to London on Thursday," he says, watching Ruth closely while he slides his hands down her arms to grasp both her hands in his.

"Why? Surely you're not returning to work. Harry -"

"Not work, no, but I have two appointments which I need to keep. I'll be home by bedtime .. I hope."

"Do I need to know about these appointments?"

"One is with Towers. I tried to reschedule an earlier date, but he's out of the country until tomorrow."

Of course. Ruth already knew that. Given it's her birthday next week, she suspects Harry has ordered some kind of gift or surprise for her. Surely he knows how much she hates surprises. She watches his face closely, but spy-like as ever, he gives nothing away.

"And how are the Little Diggers progressing?" he asks, dropping Ruth's hands.

"I've no idea. It appears to be a closed dig, although I've invited Ruth Galloway here on Thurday morning for coffee. I suspect she'd like to check their progress." She waits while he absorbs that information. "I believe I've also made a breakthrough about our body downstairs."

"Are you going to share that with me?"

"I'd like Ruth to be the first person to hear it. She'll know whether what I have found might relate to our dead woman."

"World War Two?" Harry is fishing. She'd be disappointed if he didn't.

"Possibly," she replies, smiling, reaching up to cup his cheek.

* * *

Norfolk - the following Thursday morning - 10.35 am:

"Harry not here?" Ruth Galloway asks, her gaze taking in the front hallway, and the doorway to the kitchen.

"He's in London. He left before dawn. People to see, places to go."

"It must be difficult being in a relationship with a busy man."

Ruth leads her visitor into the kitchen, where the coffee is made, and a plate of biscuits is already on the table. She indicates that the Other Ruth should sit down. Given her ability to assess a person's state of mind at a glance, Ruth suspects the Other Ruth is tired and a little run down. She understands that Ruth Galloway is not one for makeup, or designer clothing, because neither is she. Both are impractical in the archaeologist's job, and in her role as a single mother to a small child.

"I'd been hoping that once we moved in together, Harry would relax a bit, but the opposite appears to be true."

Ruth Galloway drops her eyes, which surprises Ruth, since her gaze is always so direct, and honest. "I have to confess that after you left King's Lynn eighteen months ago, Nelson and I were certain the two of you were ... together."

Ruth is mildly shocked by the other woman's honesty. She'd like to say that she and Harry had wondered about her and Nelson, but given Nelson's marital state, to share such a thought would be indelicate of her.

"We moved in together three months after our visit to King's Lynn. Sometimes all it takes is twenty-four hours away from one's normal routine, and environment. We both loved our visit, and I think that .. separately .. we vowed to return some time."

Ruth pours coffee for them both, and while they are adding milk and sugar to taste, they are each remembering that flying visit Ruth and Harry had made to King's Lynn eighteen months ago. Ruth sits, and as she glances up at the other Ruth, she wonders, not for the first time, whether Nelson is the father of her little girl. She'd daren't be the one to raise the subject; it is just too personal.

"Nelson paid us a visit last Thursday afternoon," Ruth says, "just as the students were packing up and leaving for the day."

The Other Ruth feigns surprise, since he had already suggested to her that he might do that. "He refers to you as Spies R Us," she says furtively, taking a biscuit from the plate, not that she's hungry or anything. It's just that chocolate-coated biscuits are her favourite. "I love these," she says guiltily, "but I never buy them, because of Kate."

"How is your little girl?" Ruth asks, knowing that mothers need opportunities to talk about their children.

"Growing fast. She begins school in September. She can't wait, while I'm dreading it. Someone I've not yet met, and whose values I have no idea about will be spending more time with my daughter each day than I do."

Ruth knows that in that very moment there is an opening, a window of opportunity. She could ask about how Kate's father feels about her starting school, but Ruth allows the moment to pass by. It is too soon.

* * *

Ruth Galloway is showing Ruth the progress at the site in the tunnel beside the callar. Portable LED lights have been set up at various points along the tunnel wall, and another series of lights are strung along the roof. The combined effect creates a level of brightness Ruth can only describe as stark and hospital-like.

"They've done a lot more than I expected," the archaeologist comments, "but that would be because the space is unaffected by the external weather conditions."

"Perhaps it's also because the soil is moist," Ruth offers.

"Partly yes, but the soil close to the coast is quite sandy and coarse, so it doesn't become completely impacted when it dries. It's still quite free-moving, and easy to brush away from old bones." She stands looking at the partially exposed skeleton, concentration clear in her eyes. "Given how much has already been done, I think they will only need another five or six sessions, and if they need more, I'll suggest they arrive earlier, and stay later. It's unfair to inconvenience you any more than you already have been."

This is the perfect time, and place for Ruth to share her findings on the Pickersgill Woman. Ruth Galloway has killed the lights in the tunnel, locking the door once more, when Ruth turns in the half light to speak to her.

"I've done some research," she begins, "and I'd quite like your opinion." When the Other Ruth nods, Ruth continues quickly. "Prior to World War Two, this tunnel was refurbished, renovated, and the ceiling strengthened with local stone. Some German families, seeing the writing on the wall, were being smuggled into the country, partly as refugees, but chiefly to boost labour on the farms, seeing the need for farm labourers to be enlisting."

"That's true," Ruth Galloway says, listening closely.

"But at the outbreak of war with Germany, the smuggling of families with healthy fathers and sons ceased .. for obvious reasons, but it didn't stop entirely. Young, healthy German Jews were brought in under cover of dark, remaining in this house ... possibly living in this very cellar. Over time, young Jewish men and women were simply integrated into the community, but only for a time. By `44 and `45, most people were focused on doing all they could to survive, but occasionally a German airman shot down over Norfolk was taken in by a local family, and put to work, but most were handed over to our authorities. No-one is sure how many made it through to the end of the war. There were perhaps only a very small number whose English was good enough for them to remain free, and most of those were spies. Three such men married local women ... war widows. When it was discovered what had happened, some local ne'er-do-wells captured these three women, killing them, cutting off their heads, and then burying the bodies close to the sea. The headless bodies of two of these women were found during the 1950s, but the third has never been found."

"The women's heads were delivered to their German husbands, who then went into hiding until the fuss died down. Yes, I'd heard that story. There isn't any official record of any of this, though. It's all hearsay."

"I know, but official or not, it's a good story. And that's all I was able to find on bodies being buried without their heads ... other than in gangland killings. Whoever it was buried the Pickersgill Woman was clearly sending a message."

"They certainly were. At this stage, everything depends upon the dating process, and a DNA test, which won't happen until the whole skeleton is back in the lab, and that may be weeks." Ruth Galloway stares at Ruth, as though thinking deeply. "You know ... you'd make a fine archaeologist, Ruth. You already have the analytical brain. All you need is to add the science, and the history. And, of course, you'd have to enjoy working outside, often in difficult conditions."

Ruth smiles. "I don't know about working outside, but I do find the past fascinating. I'm not sure I could manage the science side of archaeology."

"Give it some thought," the Other Ruth says, turning to take the stairs to the front hallway, where Ruth joins her, leading her back to the kitchen, where again she prepares a fresh mug of coffee for them both.

"I don't mind at all the students coming in," Ruth muses, "but Harry feels rather put out."

Ruth has just placed the mugs of coffee on the table, when the Other Ruth speaks quietly.

"Men are not as patient as we are, although Nelson has more patience than most men I've known. He's wonderful with Kate."

There it is. Another window. Another nanosecond in time, bringing with it an unspoken invitation.

"Nelson?" Ruth says, equally quietly, determined to take the baton offered, and run with it. She places their coffees on the table, and sits.

"Nelson is Kate's father," Ruth Galloway says, and Ruth notices that her eyes are on the crumbs on her plate. "He's married, so ..."

"Does his wife know?"

"She does. She ... wasn't happy at all at first, but so long as Nelson and I pretend to be nothing more than casual friends who occasionally have to work in close proximity, then ..."

"And are you?" Ruth is afraid to speak too loudly, unless this delicate moment is shattered by the wrong word, a phrase spoken without care, or a glimmer of judgement in her eyes. Ruth could never judge this woman. Ruth Galloway is one of the strongest, fiercest, and most fair and intelligent women she has ever met. Judgement has no place in her presence.

"Most of the time." Ruth Galloway lifts her eyes to Ruth, her gaze unblinking. "You don't know how lucky you are, being able to live openly with the man you love."

Ruth nods slowly, taking in the other woman's words. How sad, how unjust is it that these two people cannot openly express what they feel for one another. "Oh, but I do. Harry and I had loved one another for years before we felt able to do anything about it."

"He was married?"

"Only to his job."

Ruth Galloways smiles. "Yes. a job can be equally as demanding as a marital partner." She waits for several seconds before saying what she's never before told another human being, even Nelson ... _especially_ Nelson. "Nelson's wife, Michelle and I have nothing at all in common - other than Nelson - and yet we quite like one another, and we get on very well. I'm grateful to her for that, because Kate needs stability; she needs family around her." She momentarily stops speaking to try her coffee. "Despite that, I like to imagine a time when Nelson chooses me. I don't wish ill of Michelle. If she were to die, if anything were to happen to her, Nelson would be inconsolable. I don't imagine her dead or gone. What I want ... what I'm waiting for, but don't expect to ever happen ... is .." and she just can't say any more. She has said enough.

"If it's any consolation, Harry and I noted the way he looks at you. There's love and admiration in his eyes."

Ruth Galloway's expression, when she lifts her eyes to Ruth, is one of such distress, that Ruth can hardly bear to hold her gaze. "Sometimes love and admiration isn't enough. I have my home, my job, and my wonderful daughter, and as much as I'd love to share those with Nelson every day, he's not mine to share them with .. other than Kate, of course."

Ruth nods. She reminds herself, when Harry returns that evening, to tell him she loves him.

* * *

Nelson suspects someone is talking about him. He is driving to the site of yet another car theft, this time a late model Lexus, and he feels a burning on the back of his neck. It's probably Michelle, chatting to a client about the odd thing he'd done that morning, when he'd been about to put the butter in the oven, but checked himself at the last moment. If only Michelle knew the truth, that he'd had a lapse in concentration because he'd been thinking about Ruth and Katie. If he has his way, she never will. He will never tell her the truth, and nor is he prepared to give up Ruth.

* * *

Ruth is woken by a rustling of clothing on the other side of the room. When she'd turned out the light, it had been after ten o'clock, and Harry had not yet arrived home. She'd considered messaging him, but were he on the motorway, he'd not be free to answer.

She rolls over in bed to see his solid shape silhouetted against the light in the landing. "Hi," she says sleepily.

"I'm sorry I'm so late. I was about to leave the city when my son called me, so we had a coffee."

"How is he?"

"He's good. I'll tell you about it in the morning."

Ruth murmurs a quiet `goodnight', and only then does she remember what she'd planned to say to him when he got home. "I love you," she adds, her voice much stronger, hopefully her conviction clear.

Harry lifts his head from untying his shoe-laces. "And I love you, Ruth. Very much."

"That's good," she says, before rolling over, and going back to sleep.

Harry wonders what had brought that on, but knowing Ruth, it was probably nothing much at all.

* * *

 _ **A/N**_ _ **: The `story' Ruth Evershed tells about the smuggling of German citizens into Britain is made up, although it's also possible that it happened, but perhaps under different circumstances.**_


	5. Chapter 5

Norfolk - Wednesday 29th April 2015:

"I was about to bring you breakfast in bed," Harry says, his disappointment clear.

"I couldn't wait." Ruth doesn't explain herself. As the Birthday Girl, she has no need to explain anything.

Harry places toast and strawberry jam, and a pot of honey in front of her. "I'll make you coffee when you've eaten."

"Kiss me," Ruth says, once she's finished eating.

"Pardon?"

"You haven't kissed me today."

"Right. Sorry." Harry leaves the coffee preparation to cross to the table, and place a lingering kiss on her lips. "Happy birthday, Ruth," he says, his face still close to hers. "I have something for you."

"That's what they all say."

Harry grins. "Don't go away," he says, leaving the kitchen.

Ruth waits, sipping her coffee. When he returns, Harry is holding something behind his back, which he hands to her, and again kisses her. She removes gold-coloured wrapping paper from a small black jewellery case. Ruth briefly holds her breath. It is not the right size for a ring, and she really hopes it isn't. They have not discussed marriage, not for some time, and this is not the right place or time to be addressing the subject. She is not ready .. not yet, not today.

It is not a ring, but a necklace. A single small sapphire hangs on a delicate silver necklace. "Thank you, Harry. It's lovely," she says, before handing it to him, so that he can close the clasp at the back of her neck.

"The stone is the exact same colour as your eyes," he says, before pressing his lips where the clasp rests on her neck. "There's more," he says, sitting in the chair beside her. "Tonight I'm taking you to dinner in King's Lynn."

"Do I have to dress up?"

"Only if you want to."

"What do we do until then?" Ruth asks.

"I can think of one or two things."

"Other than that."

* * *

When approached by Harry Pearce about where to take Ruth in King's Lynn during the day on her birthday, Ruth Galloway had suggested Greyfriars Tower, the medieval ruins of a Franciscan friary.

"I'm sure she'll enjoy it," the archaeologist had said. "I'd show you around, but I'm teaching until one."

So Harry drives Ruth into King's Lynn, keeping their destination a secret until be draws his car into the car park.

"Have I told you lately that I love you?" she says, as he helps her from the Land Rover.

"Only once or twice."

* * *

Harry Nelson is driving back from interviewing a witness to one of the car thefts. In the end, all the witness was able to tell him was that the driver was in his thirties, and wore blue jeans and a dark hoodie, which he'd pulled up to cover his features. Nothing else. Bloody waste of time. With every man and his dog owning a mobile phone, taking photos of themselves, their girlfriend, their car, their dog, cat, and pub lunch, and posting the lot on Facebook, Instagram, and every other goddam social media outlet, why that `witness' hadn't thought to take out his phone and snap the guy is beyond Nelson's comprehension. The average IQ of the British population appears to be plummeting by the day. Next time someone phones in, saying they have important information, he's sending Dave Clough.

He is driving in the general direction of the police station, near the museum, when he spies a familiar figure entering a cafe. Nelson decides that he needs to speak to her.

In the end, he takes so long to find a park that by the time he reaches the cafe, Ruth is already getting into her car. They haven't spoken since the week before.

"Nelson," she says, surprised. "I hope this won't take long. I have a tutorial in half an hour."

"It won't take long." He stands a little awkwardly beside her car, until she gestures for him to sit beside her in the passenger seat. "It's cold out," she explains. Nelson doesn't find it all that cold, but he'd welcome a few minutes cloistered with her inside her car. "Is anything wrong?"

"No, nothing," he says.

Inside the limited space inside her car, Ruth is more aware of Nelson's size. He is rarely totally still, always thinking, always about to take action of some kind. On this occasion, he appears contemplative, even calm. "Before you ask," she says, "Kate is fine. After my working day is over I'm off to a farm near Sutton Bridge. I've asked Sandra to call you if I'm not back by quarter past five."

Watching her closely, Nelson can see she's not entirely serious. What could possibly happen at a farm near Sutton Bridge? "You can't be putting yourself in danger, Ruth. Maybe I should come with you."

"Maybe you shouldn't. I need to appear benign and friendly .."

"I'm benign. I'm friendly."

"You're a policeman, Nelson. Some farm people don't trust the police .. or any authority figure." Ruth waits while Nelson absorbs that small truth. "I suspect the people on this farm may be connected to the Pickersgill Woman."

"I was going to ask you about that."

"It was Ruth Evershed who uncovered the history. I located the farm where the woman had lived when she'd been married. Ruth's research suggests that Pickersgill Woman became a war widow, and then married a German, who'd changed his name to Parker."

"The Parker farm. I don't know it."

"I have it on my sat nav on my phone. When I get back to work, I'll send you the location." She smiles across the car at him. Ruth values brief moments like this one, when she and Nelson are focused on something together, something outside themselves and Kate. At times like this, they could easily be partners. "It's possible the Pickersgill body was murdered for her collusion. There are no records of her marriage, but that doesn't mean it didn't happen."

Nelson is watching her. What did she mean by that, and was she somehow suggesting that _they_ \- the two of them - have some kind of unrecognised, unrecorded `marriage'? In almost all the ways he can imagine, he is much closer to Ruth than he's ever been to Michelle, but he's not prepared to think about that for too long. He loves Michelle, but he also loves Ruth, and in his head, he is married to both women.

* * *

After their visit to Greyfriars Tower, Ruth and Harry had wandered towards the centre of town, choosing to eat lunch in a pub. So by the time Ruth Galloway is driving slowly down a muddy lane approaching the Parker farm, they have returned to Pickersgill House, and are upstairs in their turret bedroom, enjoying some adult time.

By the time Ruth and Harry fall into a post coital slumber, their archaeologist friend is trudging across a small yard towards the farm house, where a lone light shines through a small window. A bleak flat landscape surrounds the farm buildings, and other than the light from the house, there are no other signs of life.

Hearing the brief sound of a dog's bark, Ruth turns towards a long and low shed to her left. "Hello?" she calls, in a voice which sounds more confident than she feels. "My name is Ruth Galloway. I'm a -", and she is stopped by the sharp report of a gun. While she'd like to stand tall and face the gunman - or woman - Ruth is a mother, and she can't afford to be throwing her life away on a false display of bravado. In one rapid movement she ducks and turns towards her car, hoping she is lost in the shadows. When a second gun shot is fired, she suspects she may be in trouble. _Shit,_ she thinks. _I should have brought Nelson after all_.

* * *

While Harry Pearce is in the shower, and Ruth Evershed is agonising over what to wear to dinner, Nelson is still at work, going through his To Do list. There is a part of him keeping his eye on the clock, and when 5.15 passes and he hasn't had a call from Katie's babysitter, he breathes just that little bit easier. He is tempted to ring Ruth, just to check that she and Katie are safely home, but he doesn't. Ruth doesn't appreciate him hovering. She'd call it mollycoddling. Ruth is an independent woman, bringing up their child on her own. She'd even refused the money he'd offered to help pay for Katie's expenses.

So when, at just past 5.35, his mobile phone rings, he grabs it and answers quickly. "Nelson," he says.

"Nelson, it's Sandra."

 _Shit_.

* * *

As the farm buildings appear in front of him, Nelson slows the Mercedes to what for him is a snail's pace. Sandra has offered to have Katie overnight if need be, and so she is being cared for, while he is planning to get Ruth out of here in one piece. When he enters the farm yard he slows further, pulling up behind Ruth's car. It is after six, and the eeriness of a cloud-covered twilight sets his teeth on edge. Unless there's something on at work, he is normally at home by now, although Michelle probably won't be. These days she heads straight from work to the gym, and even then, she's sometimes not home until eight.

He is out of his car, and slowly circling Ruth's car, before he sees something on the ground beside the car. He reaches down to pick up Ruth's phone. That would explain why she hadn't been answering his calls. To his right is the farm house, and to his left a low lying barn, with the door open. What he knows about farmers and their habits could be written on a post-it note, but what he does know is that they are a cagey lot, and they often work all hours. His instinct is to call out Ruth's name, but something tells him that might be a bad idea, so very carefully he crosses the yard, and slides his large frame through the open doorway.

He draws in a quick breath before acting purely on instinct. Ruth is sitting on an old wooden chair, half facing him, each hand tied to the chair with something which looks like the twine they wrap around hay bales. If she's seen him, she doesn't show it, as her eyes are focused upon the thin, grey-haired man standing close to her, a shotgun pointed in her general direction, although thankfully not at her head. The man holding the gun appears much older than either of them.

Afterwards, Ruth will chastise him for his actions, accusing him of acting without thinking, but as he rushes the man, pushing him sideways, the man falls, discharging the gun, so that some chickens roosting on a pile of hay bales behind Ruth are disturbed, scattering in all directions, their cackling like so much sarcastic laughter. Nelson also falls, landing on top of the man, who is swearing at him, although Harry had only caught the word, `fook', spoken over and over in a voice rising in tone and volume.

Once on his feet, Nelson grabs the shotgun, and empties it of its remaining shell, pushing the unspent shell into his trousers' pocket. With the man still lying on his side on the ground, moaning, Nelson hurries to Ruth, untying her hands. "Are you alright, love?" he asks, watching her closely. There are tear stains on her cheeks, but she seems otherwise okay.

Which is when she starts on him. "I needed you to pick up Kate, Nelson, not come in here like the cavalry."

He can't believe what he's hearing. "He might have shot you, and Katie is fine. Sandra says she can stay the night, so I suggested she remain there until tomorrow."

Ruth continues in much the same vein, but he's not listening. He's on his phone to Cloughy, ordering him to get here right away, and take the farmer into custody.

"For what?" Dave Clough asks, his voice muffled, like he has a mouthful of something massively high in carbohydrates.

"Put down the girl, and the cheese burger, and get out to the Parker farm. It's north of Sutton Bridge."

"I know where it is."

" _Now,_ Dave. Ruth Galloway was being held hostage by some lunatic with a loaded shotgun."

"I heard that," says a gruff voice from the floor. "I'm in the room, you know. I have feelings."

Nelson turns towards Alan Parker, aged seventy-one - he'd looked him up before leaving King's Lynn - and sees an aging man with short, stubbly grey hair, sitting on his backside on the cold concrete, his arms wrapped around his knees. The older man's eyes convey embarrassment, as well they should. Nelson resists giving Parker the bollocking he deserves.

"You're spending the night in the lock-up," he says, secretly wishing he could beat the shit out of him, but then, he'd be the one spending the night in the cells. When had policing become this soft?

Ruth still sits in the wooden chair, rubbing her wrists. It is then that Nelson notices how red and raw her wrists are. "You alright, love?" he asks, stepping towards her. He'd like to wrap his arms around her, and kiss her wrists better, but Dirty Harry over there might be a gossip.

"I'll be fine. I just want to go home."

Hearing the tremor in her voice, Nelson squats in front of her, taking each of her hands in his, gently rubbing her wrists with his fingers. "When Dave gets here we can go. I'll come with you. You shouldn't be alone."

Ruth thinks Nelson is pushing his luck, taking advantage of her situation, but she's not about to stop him. She might be cross with him, as he'd turned up just as Alan Parker was sharing his rather fascinating family history with her, but she needs Nelson now, perhaps as much as he needs to be taking care of her.

* * *

Ruth Evershed's birthday dinner has been a relaxed and memorable occasion. Harry has been a charming companion, indulging all her whims. They have both passed on sweets, and are finishing off a bottle of white wine, when Harry pulls back one side of his jacket to remove a manila envelope from the inside pocket.

"In here," he says, and Ruth is sure he's nervous, "are two documents which I hope will provide a pleasant surprise for you. They are really both about us, but tonight seems like the right time to be producing them." Then he takes an A4 sheet of paper from the envelope, and slides it across the table towards her. "This one is official," he explains, "done and dusted."

Harry watches her face as she reads the letter, printed on official Mi5 paper. When she smiles, lifting her eyes to his, he knows everything will be fine. She quickly gets up from her chair to hurry to his side of the table, where she winds her arms around his neck and kisses him. "Thank you, Harry," she whispers.

"I'd been thinking of it for some time, but being here with you without all the drama of the intelligence service following me home at night, well ... this is what our lives need to be about ... just us."

"You've already served your country well," Ruth says, now she's sitting back in her own chair.

"I only have to return to work for a week, to officially hand the reins to Erin. After that ..." Harry watches her for a long moment. "Which brings me to the next document. This one isn't legal yet. It requires your signature."

Ruth's smile quickly fades. "I'm not ready to marry you, Harry. I can't make that kind of commitment yet."

"I know that. This isn't about that. Read it," and he slides another sheet of paper towards her. He watches her face closely while she reads it.

"This is an option ... on a property. Where is this property?"

"Read the top of the page, Ruth," and she does.

"We can afford this whole house? The one we're staying in?"

"The house is being subdivided into three apartments, which is why the remainder of the house is being renovated. The bit we're living in has been on the market for months now. It seems the cellar and the tunnel are deemed a problem by most prospective buyers. Plus, it's not that close to town."

"I consider that an advantage," Ruth replies.

"As do I."

"How long do we have before we have to make a decision?"

"Another ten days."

Ruth nods, and smiles to him from across the table. Harry sees that as a positive sign.

* * *

When Dave Clough arrives at the Parker farm, it is well after seven o'clock. In his hand Dave holds a half-eaten bacon sandwich. Emerging from the passenger side of his car is none other than Michael Malone, aka Cathbad. The bloody man turns up everywhere, Nelson thinks. Hasn't he a home to go to?

"Where's the gunman?" Dave asks, heading towards the farmer, who still sits on the concrete, but this time his legs are stretched in front of him, and he rests his lean body on his arms.

"That big bastard wouldn't let me have a chair," Alan Parker complains.

"Quite right, too," Dave answers, lifting him roughly to his feet, and marching him towards his car, which is parked just outside the shed.

"My tea'll be ruined, and it's all your fault," Alan Parker shouts to Nelson as he's led to Cloughie's car.

"Cry me a river, Alan," Nelson calls, as Cloughie pushes Parker into the back seat.

Nelson returns to Ruth's side, squatting beside her chair, and both note that Cathbad has remained behind. "I'm here to drive Ruth's car back to her house," he explains quietly. "I also rang Sandra, and she wants you both to know that Hecate is happy, and ready for bed."

"I'll call her in the morning," Ruth says.

"Are your keys still in your car?" Cathbad asks, and Ruth nods. "Dave asked me to check the farmhouse, just to make sure everything is turned off. We don't want his house to burn down." Nelson wouldn't mind at all if the man who had held Ruth hostage for over two and a half hours were to come home to a charred wreck where his home once was.

It is clear to everyone that Nelson will be driving Ruth home to her house on the saltmarsh. He couldn't be happier.


	6. Chapter 6

Norfolk - Wednesday evening - 29th April 2015:

Nelson never drives fast when he has either Katie or Ruth in his car, so, although Ruth's house on the saltmarsh is not far from the Parker farm as the crow flies, it takes him almost twenty minutes of sensible driving to reach the three houses, huddled together like abandoned children beside the New Road, across from the saltmarsh, eerily still in the half light of a cloudy twilight.

"Bob not home?" Nelson says, just for something to say. While Ruth has just undergone an ordeal, she seems to have not very much to say about it.

"He's in Australia. He left only the day before yesterday. He goes every year at around this time. I think he said he has a funeral to attend, which is why he's gone early. He likes to keep in touch with family, but he has to be back by late August for work."

And that is about the longest speech he's heard Ruth make since they'd last visited Pickersgill House two weeks earlier. "Let's get you inside," he says, opening his car door.

Inside the house, Ruth moves ahead of him, turning on lights. "I'm having a quick shower, if you'd like to make is a pot of tea. When I come downstairs I'll make us some eggs," she says dully.

"I'll make the eggs," he says gently, before entering Ruth's small kitchen.

While the water for the tea boils, Nelson searches inside the fridge, coming up with a carton of eggs, and a packet of bacon. By the time Ruth returns to the kitchen, freshly showered, the ends of her hair still wet, their meal is nearly ready, while the tea is still unmade.

"I'll make the tea, then," Ruth suggests, and Nelson is pleased to see a small smile softening her features.

* * *

As Nelson is turning the bacon, the other Ruth and Harry are still in the restaurant, sitting over coffee.

"Tonight has changed everything," Ruth says, glancing up into her companion's eyes. "I never thought I'd live to see you willingly walking away from your job."

Harry is watching her, weighing and measuring his next words. "It's been apparent to me for some time that if I want to be with you, and I do ... that my remaining in the service is incompatible with our personal life." Harry drops his eyes as he draws irregular patterns on the tablecloth with his finger. "And the house ... apartment .. is something we can look forward to enjoying in a freer future."

"We can come here every year for my holidays, and with our weekends free, this can even be our .."

".. weekender," he finishes for her, internally questioning the practicality of owning a weekender which is three hours drive from London.

When Ruth's phone rings, she grabs it, and quickly answers, standing to take it to the women's rest rooms. While he waits for her return, Harry orders them a second coffee. Given Ruth is in the middle of her annual leave, it's unlikely she's being called back to London.

* * *

Nelson has plated up their bacon and eggs, and since Ruth's phone call to Ruth Evershed ends just as he's about to call her over, his timing is spot on.

"Shouldn't you call Michelle?" Ruth asks.

"She won't be expecting me. She'll be at the gym, and were I at home I'd probably be cooking bacon and eggs for myself." He'd heard very little of her call to Ruth Evershed, and truth is, Nelson is dying to know what went down at the Parker farm. He hasn't long to wait. While Ruth picks at her eggs and bacon, she gives him a brief account of her encounter with Alan Parker, bachelor and farmer.

"He was as shocked as I was by the news of who the Pickersgill bones might belong to. He suspects it's probably his mother. She'd been widowed soon after her first marriage, and then, with a farm to run, she jumped at the chance to marry his father. Alan never knew his father's real name. He'd already changed his name to Jim Parker, and his English was perfect. Alan was only two when his mother disappeared, so he has no memory of her. There were rumours that she'd been killed by the military police, but that's been proven not to be the case. Then his father disappeared just before he turned four, and he was brought up by his mother's older sister and her husband, who took over the farm, so that Alan could run it when he reached adulthood. He never married, and has lived and worked on that farm all his life." Ruth stops to cut up her bacon, so that she can scoop some egg onto it before eating it. "He never knew what happened to his mother. When I asked him would he take a DNA test, he went a bit crazy, and began threatening me with the gun. This was when I decided to do as he told me, but I sensed he wasn't really going to hurt me. He was just a scared man, worried that the sins of the father were about to be assigned to him. He'd been teased all through school about his father being German."

"But, love, he hurt your wrists."

"He's thin and wiry and strong. I don't think he meant to cut my skin. He's stronger than he knows."

 _Jesus_. Now she's suffering from Stockholm Syndrome. Nelson thinks he turned up at the farm just in time. "Perhaps you should have a day or two off work," he suggests, "just until you recover."

"I was never really in danger, Nelson."

"He held a loaded gun, and it was pointed towards you. I'd say he had evil intent."

"But I only felt unsafe when I first arrived, and he fired a warning shot -"

"He fired at you?"

"He fired twice, actually."

"Why didn't you scarper?"

"I needed to know whether he is the child of the woman in the tunnel at Pickersgill House."

Nelson sighs. Of course, she did.

He gets to his feet, removes their empty plates from the table, and is piling their used dishes and utensils on the sink, when he catches the flash of headlights outside the front window.

"That'll be Cathbad," Nelson says. "He promised to bring back your car."

Ruth gets up from the table, and hurries to the door. "I'll just ask him to wait," she says, opening the front door.

Nelson is happy about that. He can't possibly stay the night, as much as he might like to, and Ruth might want him to, if only to keep her company. Michelle will be home some time, and were he out all night, she'd be bound to need answers.

* * *

It is only once they are in the car, and on their way back to their rental accommodation that Ruth shares with Harry the story of Ruth Galloway's ordeal at the hands of Alan Parker.

"Why did she go on her own? She could have taken Nelson. I'm sure he would have been happy to accompany her."

"He offered, but she was afraid Nelson would only scare anyone who lived there. I thought she had a point."

Perhaps she's right. His Ruth is equally as independent as Ruth, the archaeologist. He still has flashbacks to the time Ruth had saved her own life, and the life of Keith Deery when she'd emptied a handgun into the flesh of a French assassin.

"So, this man ..." Harry says, returning to Ruth Galloway's early evening adventure.

"Alan Parker."

"Alan Parker couldn't shine any light on the identity of the woman in the tunnel?"

"There's no guarantee that pile of bones is his mother, but it appears likely it is. Only a DNA test can confirm or deny it. The woman's name is, according to her son, Shirley Parker. She was born around 1921 or 1922, and she disappeared in 1946, so she would have been about 24 at the time of her death." Ruth remains silent for a time, while she imagines living through the times this young woman had lived through, making the most of the extraordinary circumstances as life as she knew it imploded all around her. "We're so lucky, Harry," she says quietly, as he pulls the Land Rover over, close to their front door. A light drizzle is falling, and he doesn't want them to be getting wet.

Harry leans across the cabin to place a soft kiss on Ruth's cheek. "We live in different times, Ruth. Nothing like that can happen to us, to you."

"Can't it? It seems to me that in some way, the times haven't changed at all. It's just that most people can't see that, or don't want to see it."

Harry, of all people, knows she is right. While they all live behind a veneer of safety and respectability, he is aware how wafer-thin that veneer is, and that any minute something may happen - something completely unexpected - to change the lives of all of them forever.

* * *

"He says he'll commune with the marsh," Ruth says as she joins Nelson on the sofa in her living room. "Cathbad seems to be some kind of .."

".. nutter?"

"No. I was thinking more of an Earth Whisperer .." _Jesus wept,_ thinks Nelson. "Such people do exist, you know. He has a special relationship with the earth. We spend so much time in our heads we've forgotten how to connect with our environment."

Both are reminded of a similar evening almost six years earlier when Nelson had visited her, distressed and upset, and after sitting on this very sofa, sharing a bottle of wine, she had kissed him, and on that night, Kate had been conceived, and the direction of both their lives had changed forever.

"You know I can't stay, Ruth," Nelson says gently, watching her closely.

Ruth lifts her eyes to his, and smiles weakly. "I know. It would be nice, but ... I suspect I need to spend tonight on my own."

"Do you want me to leave now?"

"No," she says, a little too forthrightly. Ruth suspects she doesn't quite know what she wants, and perhaps that's something she and Nelson have in common. Nelson wants her and Kate, and he also wants Michelle and the girls, and their nice house in the cul de sac. Nelson enjoys the respectability which accompanies his job and his family, but he also wants her and Kate. She, on the other hand, wants her job, her life, her daughter, her independence (which includes the option to munch on crisps while lying in bed), and she also wants Nelson. She wants him in her house, in her kitchen cooking eggs and bacon, and in her bed, where he has proven himself more than satisfactory. But so does his wife.

It is all such a mess, and right now she doesn't want to think about that.

* * *

"Early night?" Harry Pearce says, lifting his eyebrows hopefully.

"You're a greedy man, today, Harry."

"But you have to admit that I'm also generous, sharing myself with you as I do."

"You've outdone yourself today," Ruth says. "I'll have a hard time keeping up the standard you've set come November."

"I'll be happy with a couple of pairs of socks," he says, watching her closely.

"I'll remember that."

They climb the stairs together, Harry behind her, admiring her calves below the hem of the black dress she'd worn to her birthday dinner.

Ruth turns back the duvet while Harry uses the bathroom. By the time she returns from the bathroom, he is sitting on the side of the bed, dressed only in a pair of trunks. She steps close to him, pressing her breasts against his face, while his hands find her buttocks.

"I hope this bed stays with the apartment," Ruth says, enjoying what his hands are doing.

"We'll have to make it a condition of sale," Harry replies, lifting his head to hers. "If the bed doesn't stay, then we don't want the apartment."

"That sounds like we're purchasing a bed which happens to have an apartment around it."

"That's what I said," he says.

Neither have anything more to say, as Ruth pushes him back on the bed, pressing her body against his.

* * *

While Ruth and Harry have little more to say, Ruth and Nelson have also struck a silent patch. She has a moment when she wonders whether, were they ever to live together, would this happen often?

"If you like, Ruth, I can pick up Katie from kindergarten tomorrow, and I can keep her until you finish work. It's best, I think, if she doesn't have to spend too long away from us."

Ruth is pleased that Nelson is happy to help with Kate, offering to help ease her back into her normal routine. "Thank you, Nelson. I'd appreciate that."

It is then that she feels his hand grasp her hand, and he pulls it closer to him. Glancing across the small distance between them, she sees he is examining her wrist. Her left wrist is the one with broken skin, and although the bleeding stopped almost immediately, the wound appears nasty. "You should have this seen to," he says gently.

"I have some antiseptic salve in the bathroom cabinet." Not until this moment had Ruth thought to dress her wounds, and as much as she doesn't want Kate to see her wrists like this, it hadn't occurred to her that some attention to them might be a good idea.

No sooner had she mentioned the words `antiseptic salve', than Nelson bounds up the stairs to her bathroom, taking the stairs two at a time. He is back down almost as quickly, this time sitting so close to her that that she can smell his skin, and hear his breathing. With him he brought antiseptic wipes, and some salve to rub into the wounds.

Ruth sits quietly, watching him as he attends to her wounded wrists. She finds his touch soothing, and his concentration on his task sweet and loving. She could easily sit on the sofa all night were Nelson to rub cream into her skin with such tenderness.

All too soon they hear Cathbad return from the marsh, and they glance at one another, knowing what that means.

"I suppose the marsh is now free from nasty nature spirits," Nelson says, and all Ruth can do is nod.

When he stands, she stands with him. They are standing very close together, and both know that were Cathbad not outside, sitting in Nelson's car, she'd be inviting him to stay a while longer.

Very slowly, Nelson leans down to Ruth and kisses her, first a gentle, quick kiss, and then a proper kiss, one in which they press together, their arms around each other. When they pull apart, it is with reluctance.

"Goodnight, Nelson," she says, as he turns away from her, and towards the door. "Drive carefully."

"I always do," he says, before he leaves, closing the front door behind him.


	7. Chapter 7

_**A/N: This is the final chapter of this crossover story. Given some readers - and also reviewers - had only been familiar with one set of Harrys & Ruths I thank you and commend you for reading this. I have endeavoured to give each person some character traits which would colour them clearly for you, but even so, writing two Ruths in the same room at the same time can be fraught with confusion. I have loved writing each of the Spooks/Ruth Galloway crossovers, but I suspect I will not again revisit them, as tempting as the possibilities might be. Thank you all for your interest, and your comments.**_

* * *

Norfolk - Pickersgill House - Friday evening - 15th May 2015:

Harry, Ruth, Nelson and his Ruth are standing in the large kitchen, preparing to drink a toast.

"To Ruth and Harry purchasing this apartment," offers Ruth Galloway, standing beside Nelson, who appears especially pleased with himself.

"To the successful excavation of the remains of Shirley Parker," Ruth Evershed says.

Nelson is about to toast Harry's retirement, which he considers to be a good thing. After all, the man must be sixty. When he is sixty, his daughters will be thirty-six, thirty-four, and eighteen respectively, and he finds it impossible to imagine what his life might be like. It's quite likely that by the time he's sixty he'll be a grandfather!

A loud knock on the front door interrupts them, and Harry Pearce hurries to answer it. When he returns to the kitchen, he is accompanied by Cathbad, who is dressed in his unofficial uniform of blue jeans, trainers, and his purple cloak. His hair - very dark, but peppered with grey - is neatly pulled back in a ponytail.

"Greetings, everyone," he says formally, looking each of the four people in the eye. "Judy has given me a rare night off, and I thought I might check the burial site ... if that's alright with all of you ... other than you, Nelson, because you have no say in the matter." Nelson appears unmoved by Cathbad's comment. "I brought rosemary oil ... to cleanse the site. The departed is restless."

"She's already gone, Cathbad," Ruth Galloways says. "She was removed, almost intact, on Monday."

"I know, but she left behind her a veil of restless energy. It might affect the house ... you know, the plumbing and such."

"Right," Ruth Galloway offers, "follow me," she says, carefully placing her half glass of wine on the table.

"The access doors are open," Ruth Evershed says. "We plan to lock all the doors tomorrow ... before we leave."

"So, you'll be back?" Nelson says to Harry and Ruth, once Cathbad and the Other Ruth have left the room.

"When settlement occurs," Harry replies, "which might be a number of weeks yet. And how is the investigation into the car thefts? I was half expecting the thieves to take off with my Land Rover. It's only a couple of years old."

"Mostly they were after sedans. No SUVs. It turns out there's a gang operating out of Norwich. The memo only made its way to my desk last Friday. Talk about communication breakdown. There was I, wondering had I lost the magic touch."

"How do think Ruth is ... after her ordeal at the farm?" asks Ruth of Nelson.

"Apart from some wounds on her wrists from where Alan Parker had tied her too tightly, she doesn't seem to have suffered a lot, although I'm no expert."

"But you know her better than almost anyone, Nelson," Ruth continues. She hasn't shared with Harry the news about Nelson being Kate's father. They haven't spoken of it. Perhaps Harry has never given it any thought.

"I do know her well, yes." Nelson's eyes narrow slightly as he watches Ruth. "I suppose I know her better than most. We've worked together a long time, and ..." Nelson places his empty lager bottle on the table, stuffing both hands into his pockets. "You do know that Katie is my daughter ... don't you?" Nelson glances to Harry, and then back to Ruth. Neither looks terribly surprised.

"Ruth told me ... a couple of weeks ago, and .." Ruth glances across to where Harry stands, also with his hands in his pockets. The look she gives him says, `say something, Harry.'

"I guessed quite some time ago," Harry says, accurately interpreting Ruth's unspoken message. "While neither of us has met your daughter, it's clear to us that you and Ruth are closer than most people who work together. It's not a giant leap to imagine you might be her daughter's father."

As Harry has been speaking, Nelson visibly relaxes. "Everyone who knows us knows. We never had to make a big announcement, or anything. Everyone just figured it out on their own. I didn't want you two to be in the dark, and then one day, when you meet Katie, you look at her and think: Bloody hell, Ruth's little girl looks a lot like Nelson."

The atmosphere immediately lightens.

"And does she?" asks Ruth.

"The older she gets, the more she looks like me, poor kid. She's a corker little kid. Smart as a button. Ruth and I are immensely proud of her."

"Proud of whom?" asks Ruth Galloway, who chooses that moment to return to the kitchen, no doubt leaving Cathbad alone to do his best to settle the restless spirits.

"Katie," Nelson says, gazing down at Ruth, as she stands next to him. "I checked, and they both already knew."

"It's hardly a big secret any more. The only people who are not aware of your involvement are your mother, and my parents .. and your daughters, of course."

"With any luck we'll never have to tell them. It won't be long before Katie can be the one to tell people, and then if anyone's shocked, she can deal with it."

"She's not a member of your team, Nelson. You can't delegate responsibility like you do at work."

"I'm talking about when she's fifteen or sixteen."

Ruth nods, but her mouth is relaxed as she and Nelson exchange a long look.

"And the Pickersgill Woman?" Harry asks, offering more wine to both women. "Any progress with her identity?"

Ruth Galloway shakes her head, covering her wine glass with her hand to ensure her glass is not topped up. "Without Alan Parker's DNA, we've reached a dead end."

"He still refuses?" Ruth asks.

The Other Ruth nods. "According to him, DNA testing is right up there with witchcraft. His cousin offered to be tested, but she's not close enough to ensure a definitive result. So until Mr Parker changes his mind, our woman's identity remains indeterminate."

"What are the chances he'll change his mind?" Ruth asks.

"Close to zero, I should think," replies the Other Ruth. "While he doesn't know the identity of our remains he can live inside whatever version of history he chooses to believe."

"You could get an order from the court," Nelson suggests quietly, but Ruth Galloway shakes her head, glancing up at him.

"It's not as if the woman's killers are still alive. Everyone involved in her death is bound to be dead, so ..."

The four of them share a moment of silence for the long dead Pickersgill Woman. Even after all this time, her life and death are surrounded in mystery, wrapped tightly in a shroud of sadness.

* * *

Cathbad has been downstairs for almost a half hour before he returns, the bottle of rosemary oil in his hand. He walks straight to Ruth, handing her the bottle. "Before you leave here tomorrow, you need to dab some of this around both doorways - the one to the cellar, and the one which leads to the tunnel. It might take a few weeks for the spirit of Shirley to settle. Has anyone located her head?" Cathbad asks.

Ruth Galloway shakes her head. "No-one knows where that might be, although I'd suggest that if anyone wants to find it, the first place I'd look is the Parker farm - the house as well as the sheds. It's probably buried there somewhere."

Cathbad nods. "Ideally, the Parker farm could do with cleansing," he adds.

"Don't look at me," Ruth Galloway answers quickly. "Anyone visiting that farm uninvited needs to wear a bullet-proof vest."

"Would you like a drink, Cathbad?" Ruth asks, keen to be changing the subject.

"Do you have elderberry wine?"

"Sorry," Harry answers. "Just fruit of the grape, I'm afraid."

"I'd best be off, anyway. My son likes me to read him a story before he goes to bed."

And with that, Cathbad turns to leave, and being the nearest to the kitchen door, Nelson accompanies him to the front door, and closes it after he leaves.

"He's not so bad once you get to know him," Nelson explains to Ruth and Harry. "He always means well. He might have some odd beliefs, but our Katie loves him, so that's good enough for me."

"What does he wear when the purple cloak is in the wash?" Harry asks. For him, it is a serious question, although both Ruth and Nelson grin widely. Harry believes Cathbad could do with a psych assessment, just to be on the safe side.

"His wardrobe is mainly jeans, t shirts and hoodies," Ruth says. "If you saw him at work, he'd look like any other aging hippie."

* * *

"Tonight has been lovely," Ruth Galloway says, as she and Nelson stand near the front door. She and Nelson had travelled to Pickersgill House separately, although Ruth has to return to King's Lynn to collect Kate from Shona's and Phil's. Shona has a little boy, Louis, who will no doubt already be in bed. Ruth is not worried about Kate staying up late. She expects that her daughter will be chatting away to Shona about unicorns, or school uniforms, or maybe the peculiarities of compulsory education. The closer they get to September, the more Kate seems to know about school uniforms, school crossings, and how to know whether someone is your friend.

Thankfully, the rain has stopped, and the air smells fresh and new. Ruth and Harry stand in their front doorway, the porch light on, as they wave off Ruth and Nelson.

"We've made some good friends, Harry," Ruth says, as they watch Ruth Galloway turn her car in the driveway, driving back to King's Lynn ahead of Nelson.

"He's letting her go ahead of him so that he can follow her," Harry observes quietly.

"You make him sound like a stalker."

"That's not what I meant. He's following her to ensure she gets to King's Lynn safely. He'll probably accompany her all the way to where her daughter is, and then he'll head off home." Then he falls silent as Nelson turns the Mercedes in the driveway, before quite sedately (for Nelson) following Ruth's car along the lane. "See?" Harry continues. "He's a romantic."

Ruth nods, smiling up at him.

"What?"

"You're a romantic too, Harry, otherwise you'd not be able to read what you have into Nelson's actions."

Harry nods, but says nothing more.

As Ruth and Harry climb the stairs to their turret bedroom, she is sure the house feels lighter, and happier.

"I think Shirley is gone," Ruth murmurs as they reach the last landing.

"The dead woman?"

"Mm. She's free now."

"If you say so, Ruth."

* * *

Ruth Galloway checks her rear view mirror to see Nelson's Mercedes behind her, following at a safe distance. No doubt he will accompany her to Shona's before flicking his headlights in a salute, and then driving away. He is protecting her, keeping her safe, and in keeping her safe, he also protects their daughter.

As irritating as she sometimes finds him, she wouldn't want him any other way. He is an old-fashioned man in a world which is fast changing. He will hold on to his values of family and community, while around him the world rushes helter skelter into the unknown. Ruth also knows that wherever she is, Nelson will not be far behind. He is her anchor in a changing world, while she is his light, showing him a different way.

Ruth shudders in the dark at her unconscious reference to Tony Blair, but it's an apt analogy. She and Kate, and Nelson and Michelle are like a `third way'. For them, for now, it works, and when and if it doesn't, they will change it.

When Ruth reaches Shona's, she glances up to her rear view mirror to see the Mercedes' headlights flick off and on. She replies in kind, before Nelson guns the engine, and the Mercedes roars off into the night.


End file.
